


A Case of the Sniffles

by notjustmom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4851512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a bit of Johnlock fluff for a fellow Cumberbabe, who is under the weather</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was autumn. Autumn meant allergies, all sorts of coughs, sneezes, wheezes and whatnots filtered through John's office on an hourly basis. On the other hand, autumn meant an increase in cases as well. Sherlock usually looked forward to this time of year, but this year, on the first day, especially this morning, was decidedly not an auspicious beginning.

"Sherlock," moaned the heap next to him. At least that is what he thought John said from deep in the duvet.  
"John?"  
"I don' feel good."  
Oh no, thought Sherlock, noooooo. Not today. He knew himself to be a menace when he was sick, but John was something else. Oh no.  
"Sweetie? What can I get for you?"  
"My gun, so I can end it now."  
"How about some tea?" Sherlock pleaded.  
"How about you leave me in my misery, huh? Just go way."  
Oh great, already this stage, moaned Sherlock to himself.  
"Nope, nope, nope. Not this year, Dr. Watson. Nope."  
"Whaddya mean?" rumbled the pile.  
"I am making you tea, I am calling in sick for you, you will have a shower, then climb into bed, and I will read to you all day."  
"Huh?"  
"I do not repeat myself, so sit up. I will be back soon."  
True to his word, he returned with a tray, tea, biscuits, and the morning's paper.  
"Sher-"  
"No. Drink your tea, read your paper, then shower, then bed."  
John knew when his lover was immovable; this was one of those times.  
"Yes, lub. I'd kiss you if I didn't feel so bloody awful."  
"I know."  
John finished his tea, perfectly made of course, read the first page of the paper and threw it down in disgust.  
"Shower?"  
John nodded.  
Sherlock helped him from the bed and walked him to the loo, he turned the water on until the steam filled the room. He removed his partner's pajama bottoms, undressed, and helped him into the tub.  
If John didn't feel so bloody awful, he would've been completely aroused by the actions of his flatmate by now, without a single kiss. As it was, he could feel himself getting turned on.  
"Sherlock," he whispered.  
"Shh, I know, love. I'm here, let me take care of you, please?"  
John leaned back against his tall, lanky lover and felt strong arms wrap around him. Then large hands began to wash his hair, something he had never done in all their time together. John was usually the caretaker, and the reversal made him weak in the knees.  
The same beautiful hands worked their way down his body, cleansing and worshiping. Sherlock dragged his long fingers along his inner thighs and John heard a moan coming from himself that seemed inhuman. How? How can this man still surprise me? After all this time, where did this still, gentle, sweet version come from?  


"I learned from you, my sweet, I have paid attention each time you reached your hand to me, tended a wound, made me tea. It's my turn, love."

Sherlock helped him step out onto the mat, then carefully dried him, wrapping him in his robe. He took his hand and placed a sweet, chaste kiss on his knuckles. "Come, love."  
He tucked John into bed, gave him some cold medicine, and slipped under the covers next to him. John tucked himself against Sherlock's side and closed his eyes. Sherlock began reading in that voice (yes, that one).

"The truth is, if old Major Dover hadn’t dropped dead at Taunton races, Jim would never have come to Thursgood’s at all."

John sighed happily, as Sherlock began reading his favourite le Carre novel, "Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy," and he was soon fast asleep. Sherlock continued to read, because he said he would. They remained that way, cuddled into each other as the voice read into the late afternoon, until he, too, finally closed the book and wrapped himself tighter around his love and dozed peacefully through the autumn evening.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, John startled awake, and looked over to where Sherlock had fallen asleep next to him, his head resting on John's good shoulder, the abandoned novel resting between them.

"Sherlock?"  
"Hmmmmph?"  
"Have you been here all night?"  
"I guess so, how are you--ahhhhhhhhhhchhhhhhoooo!"  
"Oh no, I was feeling better, now you seem to---"  
"I'm f-aaaaaachooooooo!"  
"You have a fever too, oh sweetie! I'm calling in sick, then I'll be right back."

John returned with tea and honey, "Sherlock?"  
"Mmmmmmm?"  
"Tea?"  
"I feel horrible."  
"I know, I'm so sorry, come on, sit up, I put some of your favourite honey in the tea."  
Sherlock managed to drink half the tea before he hid back under the duvet.  
"I'm cold."  
"I know, can I do anything?"  
"Just come back to bed, and do the thing with my hair?" Sherlock pleaded.  
"Of course." John climbed back under the covers, and let Sherlock wrap himself around him. He started to gently thread his fingers through the now slightly damp curls, and felt Sherlock relax into him.  
"I'm so sorry, love." He whispered, though he knew Sherlock was already fast asleep.


End file.
